Page 4 of The Most Dearest
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“I don’t know what she’s on about. You know Maria. Always reading into things, hovering around the pharmacy like she works there.” Harrison’s response was dismissive.
“So no one is giving you trouble? I don’t have to send Miranda in?” Miranda could be brutal when someone hurt one of her loved ones. I often wished she was as protective of herself as she was with others.
“What? No. I don’t need your little sister fighting my battles. And nothing is wrong. We’ve got a few new assistants and I’m juggling trying to train them while also manning the counter now that Sally is on vacation leave.”
“Okay, as long as you’re sure.” I cleared the table while Harrison stacked the dishwasher. Living together was great, but it hadn’t brought us closer together. I never thought we were distant, but we seemed to just always be alone, even when we were together.He watched something while I scrolled my phone, or he read a book while I did small renovation jobs. I always asked for his help, but he said he wasn’t a “handy” guy and didn’t want to interfere with my vision for the house.
The only time we truly connected lately was in the bedroom. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on at work. Brian was a conservative man, who was quite firm, but that was pretty much Harrison’s personality too. He’d always admired Brian and frequently told me of his plans to emulate Brian’s career: work for someone else for a while, join the Pharmacists Guild, and eventually open his own pharmacy.
Harrison could be fussy and anally retentive, but they were appropriate qualities in his profession. There’s no way Brian could fault Harrison’s punctuality and commitment to sterility and hygiene. I let it go. If something was wrong, Harrison would eventually tell me. He had a great deal of pride and was reluctant to admit weakness or defeat. If he felt he needed to deal with this on his own, I’d step aside and let him.
We made love that night, but it seemed mechanical, and Harrison didn’t seem to give a shit if I reached my happy ending or not. He wasn’t the world’s most generous lover, but he usually cared enough to make sure that I was satisfied. He was definitely preoccupied by something.
The next morning, while I battled to find space in the bathroom alongside Harrison, I nearly choked on a cloud of cologne. Waving my hand in front of my face, I made an “ew” face.
“Fucking hell. You trying to asphyxiate the staff Harrison? Don’t you have old people with respiratory issues coming in to collect their medication? Geez, bring it down a notch.”
“I just sprayed it. It’s not that strong.” His answer was absent-minded. He was focused on the huge pimple beside his nose. Hewas wearing disposable gloves and had sterile gauze laid out on top of a wrapper.
“Holy shit! You’re squeezing a pimple,” I gasped. “What about scars?”
“This one is huge. I’m not having another Mt Vesuvius incident,” he remarked, smiling as he patted the gauze on his cheek.
“Yeah, well, if you’re going to use my make-up, make sure you use a cotton tip.” Checking my hair, I slipped out and grabbed my purse.
“I’ll be home late tonight. We’re going out for Joanne’s birthday,” I called into the bathroom.
“No worries. I’ll just grab some takeout.”
I sighed. Would it kill that man to cook once in a while? Every time I couldn’t cook for whatever reason, he ordered delivery or grabbed takeaway. For a man so obsessed with cleanliness, he didn’t seem to worry about what he put into his body, except for rogue ingredients in packaged goods of course.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and headed to my car. I had a lot of driving to do today. Time for a happy playlist.
Chapter 5: Cordelia - Gutted
To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
Henry VI, William Shakespeare
Two months later
Work had been so busy lately. I was covering territory for Jessa, who was on her honeymoon, so I'd been working crazy hours. At least I'd be home on time tonight. I'd stopped in and bought some fried chicken for dinner, knowing that Harrison was absolutely useless in the kitchen and I was too exhausted to cook. I checked my phone. Go me! All these crazy long hours and I was still in my driveway at my usual time. Harrison would be so pleased; he'd not been happy that I was stretching myself so thin.
I wandered in and put the chicken on the kitchen counter. Where was he? His usual MO was to watch television in the living room, comfortably ensconced on the sofa with a cold beer. Harrison was not a summer person. He hated the heat, and the inevitable sweating, so there was no way he'd be on the patio. I heard a muffled voice coming from the bedroom. Who was he talking to?
Opening the door, I saw a scene that would never fade from my memory. It burned into my synapses so strongly that I was certain I’d be able to tell my great-grandchildren everything about this moment: the smells, the sounds, and the thickness of the air. On my bed, with my cover pulled back, Harrison was riding a blonde, doggy style. Aggressively doggy style. He had his head thrown back, while she had her forearms pressed against the mattress, desperately trying to absorb the impact of his hard thrusts.
“I’m good, aren’t I baby? Fuck yeah,” he roared. The girl under him tried to answer but her response was muffled by the mattress. I stood, frozen, wanting to throw something but unable to move.
“Oh yeah, get it Harrison!” he urged himself. The man definitely had an ego, but I’d never heard this kind of self-talk in bed before. It was unattractive. Doubly so because I was not the woman hearing it.
He came with a shout and patted the woman’s slender hips, leaning down to kiss the center of her back. “Oh Emma, you are so—"
He turned his head and saw me at the door. Pulling out of the shaking woman, he stood, his half-limp dick hanging uselessly between his traitorous thighs. “Cordy, you’re home on time. I wasn’t expecting you. This is, um … Oh shit. I’m so sorry."
I was silent. The fact that he wasn’t expecting me was obvious. I didn’t understand why he had to verbalize that. The small blonde scurried to her feet, pulling the sheet over her nudity, as if I wanted to see her body.
